Naked Love

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  I'd been wrong. Maybe Giselle was staying with some friends on the opposite side of town. Maybe she wasn't even here in Paris. She'd once told me that her father lived on a farm in the countryside and had started a second family with his new young wife after her mother died. Maybe she'd gone to visit them. After all that had happened with her, the only thing I could admit to myself with complete certainty was that I didn't know her as well as I should've.

  When my eyes stopped on the seventh Giselle look-alike of the day, I tossed my last slice of orange in my mouth. The moment seemed ironically symbolic, watching the wind ruffle the golden waves of her long hair as she paced down the aisle of trees, toward me. My last bite of orange, the last sight of a Giselle look-alike. It was time to go; I could see that now. I'd have to try to find her another way.

  I rose, and the Giselle look-alike stopped.

  "It is you," she breathed.

  I gaped at her. At her green dress fluttering in the breeze. Her parted lips that couldn't seem to settle on the smile her eyes were shining with. Those eyes, that weren't brown as I remembered them. Now, surrounded by so much green, they were too. Dark green shining emeralds.

  "Gi." I rasped out her name. I did not believe it was her at first. Couldn't fucking believe it. I'd seen too many girls with the same hair dancing in the wind. I'd seen too many girls with bohemian style and an unhurried step. Too many girls who were not her.

  “Gage, what are you doing here?"

  Giving you my heart.

  Still, her face couldn't decide whether to be surprised, happy, or both. She looked a little shocked.

  Taking both her hands into mine, I said, "I'm here for you."

  11

  “What are you saying?" she asked quietly.

  Under the view of those candid, expectant eyes, there was only room for one thing. The truth.

  "I'm saying that I'm not fine with leaving things as they were." I held her gaze. "Or ending things—ending us. I don't know how, but I do know who. For me, it's you, Gi. As soon as you left and I found your poem, I understood that I don't want to live without you for even one more day—"

  She stopped my words in their tracks with two fingers to my lips.

  The wind had stopped blowing. All was still as though we needed the calm to speak.

  "There is still so much you do not know about me, Gage." She was guarded, but truthful. I could live with truth, though. The truth would get us to where we needed to go together.

  I raised her hand that was still clasped in mine to my lips and kissed it, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin, knowing relief for the first time in days. "But I've got time." I winked and gave her a grin hoping she remembered.

  She bit on her bottom lip as a pretty smile bloomed on her face. "I think you've used that same line with me before."

  "It's a good one…and if it works…well, then I'm using it on you, Frenchy."

  She laughed softly. "Would mon beau surfeur like to come to my flat?"

  "Oui." He would very much like to come to your flat. He would very much like for you to come in your flat, too.

  * * *

  Her Parisian flat was close to how I'd imagined it. From the old limestone walls to the eclectic interior. A bed with tie-dye sheets of teal-blues, lime-greens and canary-yellow, and presiding in the center of the room, her easel.

  I'd never been in her room in Charleston, now that I thought of it. It'd never really crossed my mind because when I wasn’t working—and God, had I become an excellent delegator—we'd spent nearly all our time together at the beach house or on the actual beach. Her sketching while I surfed. But being here, in the place where she lived, seemed far more intimate than I could've asked for.

  She flopped down on her bed and gestured for me to sit.

  I sat beside her.

  The silence in the room was keen. Giselle clasped and unclasped her hands, wrestling with something painful within herself.

  Every atom in me burned to say something, to console her. To tell her whatever she had to say was safe with me. I was safe. That the strength of my love for her wasn't something that some dark new revelation would extinguish. Even if I wanted to feel differently about her, I couldn't. I understood that now.

  One glance of her wretched face indicated that right now my part was to stay silent. This was Giselle's choice, and her fight to fight, her story to tell.

  Finally, she spoke.

  "I went to Charleston to get away."

  She drew her fingers through her hair, and when they caught a snag she ripped them free, shaking her head in frustration. She let out a tortured sigh, as if finally accepting the imperfect narrative she needed to tell.

  "Henri and I met when I was sixteen, at a time when my mother was dying of cancer, and I was angry at having to lose her. A few months was all it took for us to form a bubble between the rest of the world and ourselves. I moved out, I dropped out of school. We had the most insane lives, like in a storybook."

  A bitter smile I wanted to kiss away until she was back to her usual carefree happiness marred her beautiful face, but she had so much more to say. And…more importantly, for her, I had time to listen.

  "Dancing and partying and drinking all night. It was all such brilliant fun that I almost didn't notice what was happening. How my friends were dropping away. My life. My art." She shook her head. "He started stealing to support us, and he got pretty good at it, I guess. The years blurred together, and our bubble shrank and shrank and shrank. Until there was nothing left for me but him. Until our lives were so stifled and limited that we had no choice but to hate each other. He became irritable and tyrannical, blowing up at any wrong thing I said." She closed her eyes, her lower lip trembling as if she were experiencing it in this very moment. "The first few years, I tried to leave. That was the saddest part of all. Wherever I went, whoever I stayed with…he would somehow find out. He would know. Every time he showed up with his grim apologetic smile, familiar kind eyes, and I figured it was a sign. That someone who fought so hard for me could not possibly be wrong."

  She shuddered, her head wilting in defeat.

  "And yet, how wrong I was. The longer I spent with him, the more I whittled away into nothing. I became bone thin, quiet, depressed. We would drink just to get through the day. And his temper grew worse and worse and worse. He manipulated me to get me stealing with him, only I was not nearly as good. I got caught. Several times."

  Her head lifted. In her eyes burned a defiant fire so hot I'm sure my skin was being singed.

  "You want to know the worst thing?" Her voice hitched. "When they arrested me on my fourth straight offense and finally sentenced me, I was glad. I was glad to escape him. Since he didn't have visiting privileges, I was free of him for months. And then when I got out…" Her shoulders slumped. Her voice went flat. "He came for me. He came for me and took me…and I let him. All the while I had been in the detention center, I had sworn to myself that things would be different when I got out. That I would be different. And then, one look in those tender eyes of his and I crumbled."

  Her hand had found mine and was gripping so tightly, as if it were the last lifeline keeping her sane.

  "That night, sleep never came for me. Instead, my mind was swarming with regret—swallowed by a sudden wave of realizing that this was it. If I stayed here with him like this, I was not going to survive it. Even before, I had been having suicidal thoughts, but now…" She shook her head firmly. "Now, this time there would be no escaping it."

  Her breathing had amped up, had taken over her whole body, all rising in heavy inhalations and exhalations. Suddenly, her head snapped to face me, and she shuddered as if the memories still terrified her.

  "So, I left. I packed my bags and I walked out the door. I took the first jet I could to the US. New York City. Where I had always dreamed of going as a little girl; and my dreams finally came true. Sure, I had to go into crazy debt on my MasterCard to afford the flight, but I did it. I was gone."

  Now h
er face had taken on a shining, luminous quality. This girl was magnificent. So young, so much heartache, yet so strong and resilient. How could I not have known I loved her?

  "It must have been only a few weeks in New York, when I got word from an old friend that Henri was on his way. Most likely, he heard me wax poetic about the city enough times to correctly figure if I was going to go anywhere, it was there. So, I left again."

  A grim smile.

  "In the airport, the one place that sounded charming and warm and yet I'd never heard of, was Charleston. So, I took a flight, and the rest is history."

  Her body rigid, she looked as anguished as she had before she'd told her story.

  I stroked a finger over her wrist tattoo and traced over the bird. And as I suspected she might, she answered my question without having to ask it.

  "The sparrow is for freedom. That was what I learned from all of this. That the most important thing for me, and for my life, is freedom. Without it, there is nothing. I saw it on a poster in New York. The sparrow, the words. N’oublie jamais."

  Her two fingers swirled in a circular motion over her tattoo as she murmured, "Never forget."

  Stillness. Somewhere nearby, a bird twittered. I realized in an instant, the only thing her story had done was emphasize what I already knew. Giselle was it for me. My girl.

  Slipping my arm around her, I eased her up. I steered us toward the balcony door I'd noticed while she was telling her story. Fitting. Like certain themes in our relationship—strawberries, public gardens—balcony talks were in there too.

  Giselle snapped, "That is it? You have nothing to say?"

  I squeezed her hand and drew her forward. "I have so much to say."

  Once we were outside, a few breaths of fresh air helped me focus my thoughts and the words I wanted to say. Somehow, I managed to find myself in France chasing after a girl I barely knew, yet also loved with all my heart. Had I completely lost it? No, you haven't. You've found it.

  A blue wooden bench with chipping paint was my only option so I sat and faced her. Giselle wouldn't quite look at me, but she wasn't looking away either.

  "I'm sorry about all that happened to you with losing your mom…and Henri. But if you think that changes how I feel about you, then you're out of luck."

  Her eyes flickered over to fix on me.

  "When I met you, Gi, you threw me so hard and so far, it was like a wave crashing over me with no warning at all. It had something to do with your easy manner…your smiles…your accent…how hours with you would flash by in a second—and it also had nothing to do with that." It was painful, getting these words out, but saying them was like finally expelling a simmering sickness that had been inside me for a long time. "All this time, I kept trying to play us down. Thinking that we were just a summer fling and nothing more. I never stopped to really think about my growing feelings for you because…I didn't want to acknowledge them. I was familiar with meaningless hookups. I'd just left a serious relationship that had crashed and burned. I was closed-off when I met you. Part of me hoped that our time together was just more of the same meaningless shit, so it'd be easier when it was over."

  My hand found hers and pulled her down to my lap. I kissed her hair and inhaled again, loving that she was in my arms again. I'd never get enough of her scent—flowers and sunshine and goodness.

  "And yet, part of me knew that wasn't the case. Things were different with you. Painfully so at times, as you pulled me out of the darkness and into the sunlight with your sincerity and laughter and joy. I never expected for this to happen to me…and yet…" I turned her face to mine as I spoke my next words. "It did. You happened."

  I tapped her lower lip with my finger. "You caught me. Like a fish in a net. The instant you stepped out of my life it disintegrated to dust. That first night after you left…the thought of sleeping without you, or not seeing you laugh again, or never hearing you speak French to me when we made love…was too much to bear. It was all you. You, who made me love my life again. You, who cracked open the rigid structure I'd built around myself and showed me there were possibilities for something I'd barely dared to hope for."

  Giselle's eyes were luminous, frightened almost as she asked, "What was it you barely dared to hope for?"

  "Love. Finding someone to love who would also love me."

  "And d-id you f-find this person?" Her eyes filled with shimmering tears reflecting the blue and white Paris sky as she waited for my answer.

  I helped her off my lap and onto the bench before standing in front of her. I slipped my hand in my pocket and found the velvet box I'd brought with me. Then I went down on one knee.

  "I did. I found a French beach fairy, or rather she found me." I pulled the box out of my pocket. "And I fell in love with her. She's everything I want…and need in my life. She's beautiful and sexy and funny and a wicked tease that catches me every single time. She's an incredibly talented artist, and so very generous and giving that I have to remind myself she's real sometimes. She's a gorgeous bohemian girl I barely know yet love with all my heart. She probably thinks I'm certifiably insane. But true insanity would be me not seeing the once-in-a-lifetime love in front of me right now."

  I opened the box to reveal the ring I'd found in Charleston before I'd headed to the airport. An aquamarine the color of her dress set in a platinum band carved with rolling ocean waves. "So, there's only one more thing I need to know. Will you, my once-in-a-lifetime love, marry me?"

  Giselle sat frozen, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and trailing tears. I hoped like hell they were happy ones.

  She put a hand to my face and stared into my eyes. "Oui, mon beau surfeur, je vais t'épouser." Yes, my beautiful surfing man I will…I think.

  "I'm taking that as a yes, but I think I should revisit French lessons." The smile twitching at the corner of her luscious lips was begging me for a kiss, but she still had more to say to me.

  "It will be on one condition."

  "Which is?"

  She tugged me up from kneeling to sit beside her and looked out contentedly at the city. "Okay, okay, actually two conditions."

  I gulped. If my time with Giselle had told me anything, it was that she could be stubborn about getting her way. "All right, what?"

  "One thing I need to know is where will we live?"

  I kissed her first, loving the taste of her lips after so many days without them, until she started making those wonderful French sounds and words I needed to hear for the rest of my life—and then I answered her.

  "I will live wherever you are. We can live in Charleston at the beach house, or somewhere else altogether if you want. We can even live in Paris if that's what you need in order for us to be together. The point is, my gorgeous Gi, you are my home. Wherever you want to be is where I will live."

  A look of relief passed over her beautiful face as she put her hand to my face again and caressed over my lips with her thumb. ”I want to live in Charleston on the beach…and draw pictures of you surfing and the sea and the sky…and bring strawberries to you at work and feed them to you. I will teach you French and even pick up your dirty socks when you forget to put them in the hamper. I want to grow a patch of sunflowers for us to lie under for picnics in the garden. I want a simple life with small surprises and a great deal of peacefulness. I need that life to be whole again. I will come back here often to visit certainly and to see my family, but I want to live in Charleston with my mon beau surfeur, Gage, who I love with my whole heart."

  I couldn't answer her right away. I was too busy kissing her sweet lips again. And trying to keep my heart beating inside my chest.

  "What's the second thing?" I asked once I could speak.

  "You have to promise me that you will stay gullible to my teasing and never let on even if you know I'm doing it," she said with complete seriousness.

  I swept her up in my arms and twirled her around and laughed. "I don't think you'll have a thing to worry about on that point, my lovely Gi. I’m American, s
o of course I’ll stay gullible!"

  Now Giselle was the one who was kissing me as I held her above me with the view of Paris spread out before us. "Then I have just one word for you, my love," she said.

  I hope it's my favorite word.

  "Oui."

  12

  Six months later.

  Folly Beach

  Sprawled out on the blanket in a warm bed of sand, I pulled my wife to my chest.

  "So how does it feel to have a husband?" Cheesy comments had become my favorite method of teasing her, and the levels to which I'd go were fairly limitless.

  Her chin plopped on my chest, a small smile snaking along her lips. "It feels hard and warm and rather nice actually," she said as her hand wandered over my chest and then down my abs and over my shorts to palm my cock through the material. "How does it feel to be the luckiest man in the universe?"

  I laughed—something I did a lot more often now Giselle had come into my life. "Still trying to hold on to the lower leg with the teasing. I told you there was nothing to worry about me ever losing my gullibility with you. But to answer your question, it feels like I won the wife lottery. Not every guy can put a ring on a French beach fairy and keep her. It's a helluva lot harder than it looks."

  Giggling cheerily, she snuggled closer, her arms draping around me. "But you did it, so good job, husband. It is quite fun being married to you, even if it's only been for a day. After all, think how great our wedding turned out, mostly based on my suggestions."

  My hand gripped a handful of her gorgeous ass and squeezed. "Yeah, yeah, Frenchy."

  Although, she was right. Only sixty guests consisting of our families and close friends had attended the small, intimate ceremony. Reese and Gray, Reid, Reeve, Paul and Isa, who were still trying to work out where their crazy relationship was headed, Giselle's friend Brynne, who'd lived with her family in Paris as an exchange student, came out from Vegas with her husband, a handful of Giselle's local artist friends (including Nora, previously known as Old Bat Art Lady) and a few of our neighbors joined us for our ceremony on Folly Beach. Yes, we’d said our vows where we'd first met, and it was exactly how we wanted it to be. Our wedding cake was vanilla strawberry (my clever suggestion) and there was still some leftover in the freezer.